To Live Afresh
by KCS
Summary: -"Make the most of your regrets...to regret deeply is to live afresh." - Henry David Thoreau. Inspired by PGF's recent "Illusion for the Moment," a short oneshot depicting a slightly sad scene that should have happened directly after EMPT.


_This plot bunny haunted me all night long after a sneak peek at PGF's latest oneshot, "Illusion for the Moment," so I both credit and thank her for prodding my muse back into action outside of Worth and Choice._

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"I never hated you, you know."

The words were carried slowly away on the warm spring breeze, shifting through the trees and flowers as gently as the voice that had spoken them. The speaker stood, his hat in his hand, his proud head bowed in a reflection that was not entirely pleasant.

"I never could, though for a good while I desired to," he admitted with some reluctance, a faint flush of shame colouring his pale face. "But…I never truly did, and I hope to heaven you know…_knew_…that."

He received no answer, but thus encouraged by the gentle silence he continued after a small pause.

"I appreciate what you did," the man muttered. "No…I…I thank you, for what you did for him. I cannot profess to understand what it was, but you seemed to…" He frowned, awkwardly fumbling to formulate words from the tangled skein of his thoughts. The silence waited patiently for him.

"I suppose the word I am groping for is something akin to _complete_," he finally said helplessly. "You _completed_ him. The haunted ghost of a man that I met six years previously had faded over time, but still something was not quite right. But it _became_ right, after he met you. I cannot explain it, nor will I waste time in attempting to – but…I thank you."

The man shuffled his feet nervously at receiving the same quiet response. "I suppose that was why I…never was very enthusiastic about the matter," he mumbled reluctantly. "You were able to transform him into something I never could – could not even _comprehend_, much less attempt to accomplish."

He glanced up tiredly as a cool breeze sent his coat flapping indolently in the wind. "I know I hurt him…perhaps both of you…by my distancing myself from you, by my refusal to accept your numerous social invitations," he whispered. "But…you must understand…I'd no idea what to say or do…you were so perfect together, so completely happy – that my presence would only have detracted from that."

He glanced up as a silently verbalized protest seemed to flit through the air to brush his shoulder. "Or so I thought," he murmured miserably, his head bowed in regret.

The breeze lessened, allowing the song of a single bluebird in a nearby tree to float lightly through the balmy air as he stood in despondent silence for a moment. Then a small smile flitted across the man's sharp features, and he finally spoke again.

"He did try to explain it to me, you know," he informed his listener. "Love, I mean. He attempted to make the thing clear to me and I could not see it as he obviously could – that it is infinite, that it cannot be subtracted from one person to be given to another but merely expanded, I believe is what he said."

The silence gently agreed, causing the pained wrinkles of a man aging beyond his years to slowly fade from his downcast face. "Of course he was right; we both know that – he always was," he brooded quietly. "Blind fool that I was, I withdrew into myself instead of believing him."

A bitter, self-deprecating smile worked its way sardonically across the man's meditative face. "And because of that, I know I caused friction in my efforts to pull him away from you occasionally," he admitted, staring at the ground with unseeing eyes. "And I compounded the problem by not being sorry for it in the least; I did not regret taking him from you on the occasions I did so."

The songbird's twittering ceased suddenly as in sad irony, and the man's face fell once more into miserable, confused grief. "And for that…I _am_ sorry, now," he whispered, thin fingers clenching upon the brim of his hat, still held respectfully at his side.

The gentle silence made no move to either encourage or discourage the man struggling to voice his thoughts in a coherent manner. After a few moments of quiet contemplation he continued.

"I am sorry, I _was_ sorry; and I hope you know…_knew_...that," he apologised helplessly, almost desperately. "You do realise, I hope, that is why he returned to you unharmed, at least physically, after that affair in Switzerland?"

The words were falling rather more quickly now as the man desperately pleaded for his silent audience to understand. "I know the guilt he carried for so long had to have been staggering, but how could I in good faith have allowed him to remain with me to face down the Professor? He had a wife waiting at home – a wife in frail health, a wife who might someday bear him a child for I well knew how much he wished for one, a wife he loved more than anything else in the world – how could I have allowed him to take a chance on meeting such a fate, on leaving you completely alone in the world?"

The man's voice quieted suddenly, and his eyes closed for a moment. "I am not a very caring individual, but even I am not heartless," he murmured. "I could not countenance allowing that chance – not merely because I would rather lie at the bottom of the Falls than see him come to harm, but more because I could not destroy something so sacred as bound the two of you." The man's eyes opened momentarily, filled with torn guilt and uncertainty.

"I am not overtly sentimental, but nor I am sacrilegious," he added miserably. Then pain crossed the gaunt face as he cast his eyes down in unutterable grief. "And thank you – for being there for him when I could not," he whispered.

The spring breeze silently floated in noiseless comfort around the confused man as he stood, shifting his weight to the other foot in deep disquiet. Finally he looked up, a small fire of anger lighting in his icy eyes.

"I give you my word, had I _known_ – had I only _known_! – I would have been here," he whispered fiercely. "You _must_ believe me; the message from my brother was lost between Egypt and France – I _didn't know_!"

The desperate plea seemed to hang captive in the air, awaiting sentence from the eternally-silent judging audience. Finally the man's eyes closed rigidly to hide their betraying glimmering.

"I would have been here, I give you my word by all I hold dear," he whispered, his tightened lips the only outward indication of a gnawing pain repressed deep inside. "I never would have left him to face that alone, I swear it to you! I did not find out until it was too late…far too late…" He trailed off miserably, knowing the past was irrevocable and therefore could not be changed by any amount of pleading or regret.

"I – I am so sorry," the man whispered finally, unable to articulate anything more coherent than that single expression of guilt and atypical grief.

The spring breeze carried his words away as if to give them finality – it had been said, there was no turning back now. The stillness gently wrapped around the man in a tender expression of understanding.

"I cannot undo my past errors," the man whispered to the silence. "But I can make a promise, one I would have made to you had I been here. I…I promise, I will do my utmost to keep him safe, I swear it to you. If it is within my power, I will – I owe you that much, Mrs. Watson."

The man looked down with slightly blurred vision at the modest grey stone, to which he had just poured out three years' worth of grief and uncertainty and despair – the only witness who would ever hear such things uttered from the lips of a man who obdurately portrayed himself to the world and its occupants as a brain without a heart.

The single small wreath of pure white flowers he had placed upon the marker fluttered slightly in the breeze as he knelt for one moment to set it right; it had blown slightly askew, obscuring the name of the well-respected woman from the world's view.

Then the man replaced his hat, pulled on his gloves, and after bowing his head in reverent farewell left the cemetery with purpose; refusing to look back, only forward.

* * *

Eight hours later, as twilight fell upon the spring evening, John Watson stood over the same small grave, a tear falling unheeded from his eye. He wondered with loving bewilderment who had placed the flowers upon the stone, before he bent and filled a small vase with his own roses. He then began to detail softly the events of the most extraordinary day of his life to the woman he loved.

And somewhere, Mary Watson smiled.

* * *

_To those who are wondering my views on the issue at hand, I firmly believe and will stand by the idea that Holmes would not have stayed away for long after finding out the news of Mary Watson's death – Colonel Moran or no Colonel Moran; therefore I believe Mrs. Watson had to have died not long before Holmes's return instead of soon after Reichenbach as I have heard many Sherlockians say. In fact, EMPT tells us that Holmes was actually on his way back to England before he received news of the Adair murder. I would like to think that the death of his best friend's wife would be reason enough to bring him back despite Moran, and this is the result – a scene I think should have happened if it didn't._

_Thank you for reading, and do check out PGF's story if you haven't yet - it's much better than this._


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